Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
LENA
The first sensation is his nearness, a solid, comforting heat against my back.
The scent of pine and wood smoke clings to his skin, now mingled with something that’s all him.
I lie still, a fragile peace settling over me.
The memory of the night before pulses beneath my skin, a secret, vibrant hum.
Mags. The low rumble of his voice from last night stirs in my memory.
My lips curve. That name. It fits in a way “Lena” hasn’t for years.
It strips away the performance, the crushing weight of “Lena Kensington,” leaving bare the woman I am only with him, the one I’m finally, tentatively, ready to discover. The one I want to be.
He moves, turning to face me. His eyes, hazel with flecks of gold catching the early light filtering into the cave, hold a tenderness I’ve seldom witnessed directed at Lena Kensington, actress and persona.
A softness resides there, a quiet understanding that transcends the crafted charm and fleeting attention I’m accustomed to.
My chest aches with something I can’t name—a pull stronger than desire.
It’s like finding something I didn’t know I’d lost. Belonging? Being seen? Maybe.
“Morning.” His thumb traces the line of my jaw.
The calloused skin, roughened by the elements, rasps against me, a reminder of our different worlds.
Yet in that touch, there’s an unexpected intimacy, a grounding presence that steadies something.
A tremor traces my spine, a phantom echo of the night’s more intense sensations, a stirring of a newfound awareness of my body in his presence—a vulnerability that both excites and terrifies me.
“Morning,” I say, my voice still thick with sleep, husky in a way that betrays the depth of last night—whispered confessions and shared breaths in the dark.
The air in the cave is heavy, charged with things neither of us has said yet.
I reach out, my fingers finding the strands of his hair, tangling in their surprising strength and softness.
The gesture is small, but it carries weight.
A quiet acknowledgment of this moment. Of him.
Of us. A promise I’m not sure I know how to keep.
We lie there in silence, the world outside reduced to a distant hum. The last of the embers glow faintly, casting a soft light that blurs the hard lines of dawn and makes everything feel gentler than it should.
For now, this place is a sanctuary—temporary, but real. I study his face. The slight furrow between his brows hints at that quiet intensity I’ve come to recognize. And then, the faint smile when his eyes meet mine—something that hovers between amusement and understanding—makes my breath catch.
A shared secret we haven’t dared to name.
This man. So different from the polished charm of Hollywood’s elite, from connections built on ambition and the spotlight.
He’s steady in a way that anchors me. Honest in a way that slips past every defense I’ve ever built.
He doesn’t see the curated version of Lena Kensington.
Somehow, he recognizes Mags—the woman I’m only beginning to meet myself.
Stepping out of the cave an hour later is like waking from a dream into the blaze of reality.
The mountain air is crisp, cutting, a reminder of the wildness out here.
The world bursts into color—the deep green of the pines, the steely grey of the cliffs, the vast and indifferent sweep of pale blue sky.
And with it, reality. Complications. Consequences.
But also, something else I hadn’t expected—clarity.
We need to make it back to camp without being seen emerging together from this hidden spot.
My tent stands empty, evidence of my absence throughout the night.
A complication we hadn’t considered in our rush to solitude, nor in what happened between us after.
The path requires careful navigation—both the physical trail down the rocky slope and the social terrain awaiting us.
We’ll need a story. A reason for my early morning absence, a plausible explanation for our separate returns.
“Go first,” Finn says, his voice low, already slipping back into guide mode, though his eyes still hold the raw memory of the night.
“Circle around the east side of the basin. Make it look as if you were scouting, checking the sunrise, whatever. I’ll follow a different route, come in from the west fifteen minutes later.
Act surprised to find me back already.” Act surprised.
Right. Back to performing. The thought lands with a familiar, dull thud in my chest, even as I understand the necessity.
I nod, accepting the need for subterfuge.
“Okay. But Finn...” I hesitate, needing to address the obvious. “Your arm. Your ribs. You’re sure you’re able to hike?”
He adjusts the bandage I made, his expression neutral. “Bruised ribs, sore arm. Nothing that’ll stop me. I’ve hiked through worse.” He avoids my eyes, pulling on his professional mask. “Go on. Before the others wake up.”
I want to argue, to insist he let me check his injuries again, but the set of his jaw tells me it’s useless.
His pride is back in place. I give him one last brief look, memorizing the strong lines of his face in the morning light, then turn and pick my way down the slope, heading east as instructed.
The walk back to camp is a blur of conflicting emotions.
Relief that Finn is alive and somewhat okay.
Lingering warmth from the night spent in his arms. Anxiety about facing Elliott and the crew.
Guilt over the deception. And a deep, unsettling worry about Finn pushing himself too hard, hiding the true extent of his injuries.
Gram always said stubborn men were the quickest to meet their maker because they refused to admit when they needed rest.
I reach the edge of the camp as the first signs of stirring emerge from the tents. I take a deep breath, smooth my hair, and try to look like someone returning from a reflective morning walk, hoping the mud on my boots isn’t too incriminating.
Carlos is the first one I encounter, kneeling by the cold fire pit. “Morning, Lena. You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I say, forcing a casual shrug. “Watched the sunrise from the ridge. It was incredible.” I gesture eastward. “Any coffee started?”
“Not yet. Finn’s not back, and Elliott’s still...” Carlos trails off as Elliott’s tent flap unzips with force.
"Alright, people, let's move!" Elliott booms, emerging with his clipboard. "We lost time yesterday. Need to make camp by nightfall. Where's Finn? He should have been back hours ago."
Right on cue, Finn strides into camp from the west, moving with a steady, ground-eating pace that masks the stiffness I know he must be feeling.
His pack sits high on his shoulders, his expression calm, professional.
Only I can detect the slight tension around his eyes, the careful way he holds his injured arm close to his body.
“Morning,” Finn says, his voice even as he nods to the group. “Just got back. ”
Elliott turns, surprised. “Finn! At last. Any problems? We expected you sooner.”
“Trail was slower than expected coming down,” Finn replies, his voice smooth as he drops his pack near the fire pit without betraying any discomfort.
“Dave’s evacuation went fine. He’s stable, getting treatment.
” His eyes shift to mine, offering a neutral acknowledgment.
“See you made it back okay, Lena. Looks like you were out early too.”
“It was stunning,” I say, matching his tone and stepping into the lie. “You missed the best light.” The words slide out smoothly, even as they knot something inside me.
Elliott studies us both for a beat, suspicion tightening his mouth, but he doesn’t push. “Good, good,” he says, already moving on. “"So, high camp today? We're back on track?"
"That's the plan," Finn confirms, moving to get the coffee started, his movements economical, hiding any sign of pain. "Weather looks clear. Trail should be manageable, mostly uphill from here. We'll reach high camp, then push to the filming location at Painted Peaks tomorrow."
Breakfast was tense, the usual camaraderie gone, replaced by a subtle strain.
I watch Finn, seeing the subtle signs of discomfort he tries so hard to hide—the slight hesitation before bending, the way he favors his left side, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw when he lifts the heavy coffee pot.
He catches me looking once and gives me a warning expression that practically screams I’m fine, drop it.
But I can’t. Worry, sharp and insistent, coils in my gut.
A fall that left him bleeding and bruised, a night spent shivering in a cave before …
before. That’s not ‘nothing serious,’ no matter how much he wants to pretend.
As the awkward silence stretches, Finn distracts everyone by emptying his pack onto a tarp near the fire.
Protein bars, dried fruit, packets of nuts, and jerky tumble out in impressive quantities.
“Brought extra rations,” he explains, sorting through the pile.
“Figured we could use them after the flood took some of ours. Help yourselves.”
The mood instantly lightens. The crew gathers around, relief and interest replacing suspicion.
Carlos grabs a packet of dried mango, Tom and Jake start comparing protein bar flavors, and even Elliott seems diverted for a moment, examining a package of smoked salmon jerky.
It’s a clever move, shifting the focus and reminding everyone of his role as the provider, the capable guide.
While the others are occupied with the unexpected bounty, Elliott outlines his filming plan for the day. “I want to focus on the final ascent. The struggle, the determination. Lena, we’ll get shots of you using the compass, perhaps leading the way for a section. Show that transformation.”
“As long as it doesn’t slow us down,” Finn says, his tone leaving no room for argument as he pours coffee. “High camp by nightfall is the priority.”
As we break camp, I find a moment alone with Finn while the others are distracted by the food. “Seriously, Finn, how bad is it?” I whisper, indicating his arm with a nod. “You need to be honest. Pushing yourself could make it worse.”
“It’s handled, Mags,” he says, his voice low and firm, using the name that feels like ours alone. The use of it softens the dismissal, but the message is clear … back off . “I know my limits. We need to reach the Peaks.”
“Your pride is going to get you hurt,” I argue, my voice low. “You fell hard enough to be out all night.”
“My experience is going to get us there safely,” he counters, meeting my eyes. There’s a stubbornness there I recognize from myself, but also a weariness he can’t hide. “Trust me on this.”
I want to push, but the rest of the crew is gathering, packs ready. Elliott is looking impatient. “Alright,” I concede with reluctance. “But I’m watching you. One sign you’re struggling, and I’m calling a halt, Elliott’s schedule be damned.”
A ghost of a faint smile touches his lips. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
We set out from the camp, the mood changed.
The shared experience in the cave hangs between Finn and me, an unspoken current between us, while the need for secrecy creates a different tension.
Elliott’s suspicion adds another layer of complexity.
The plan is clear: reach high camp by nightfall.
But as we begin the climb, leaving the relative shelter of the basin behind, I can’t shake the feeling that the most challenging part of this journey isn’t the mountain ahead, but navigating what lies between us, and the secrets we now carry.
And Finn, leading the way with his jaw set and his pain hidden, worries me more than any bear or storm we’ve faced so far.